


petrichor

by tommyglued



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Relationships, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, bookstore owner thomas, musician newt, this is approx 1k of pure gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 22:22:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14294733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tommyglued/pseuds/tommyglued
Summary: petrichor(noun)the smell outside after it rains---Thomas works in an old bookshop and doesn't like autumn rains. A blond guitarist running from the rain makes it all a bit (a lot) more pleasant.





	petrichor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sulfuric](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sulfuric/gifts).



> HAPPY (belated) BIRTHDAY TO THE LIGHT OF MY LIFE JAM I LOVE U SO MUCH!!!!!!!!! this was written in celebration for the two (2) decades shes been gracing this earth and making it a better place :')) <3
> 
> this is actually an au of my friend eisha that was posted on tumblr as an inspo for others and since i Live for this kind of aus i decided to make it from a picspam into a fic!! u can see the post [here](http://newtparadise.tumblr.com/post/172203384990/newtmas-au-4-musician-and-bookstore-keeper)

A chilly autumn afternoon. A steady melody of splashing rain on the pavement and cars rushing by. The smell of old paper and tea tasting of cinnamon and apple.

Thomas wasn't exactly a fan.

His definition of an idyllic setting would be a sunny summer afternoon, preferably close to the sea, drinking a lemonade with a book in his hand. Currently, he was 90% dissatisfied. At least he had an inexhaustible source of books to read.

The tiny bookstore he worked in was a modest, dusty collection of outdated copies and used books that remained in a good enough shape to resell. Sometimes, he’d get a deep ache in his chest thinking how perfectly such a place belonged in an autumnal afternoon downpour in a city so busy passengers merely blink in its direction. It was a window to another world entirely, another space-time sequence ripped from modern chaos only few could appreciate.

Yeah, he disliked clouds and mist and the coldness of air, but he was damn fond of that bookstore.

He heard hurried slam of feet against wet concrete before he saw a boy barging in, running fingers through his damp blond hair and sucking in generous gulps of air shortly after closing the door. A black guitar-shaped case was strapped to his back.

Could lips as perfectly shaped as his show him another dimension entirely, one where he’d see every star explode behind his eyelids? Could fingers as slender as his dance over guitar strings the way his heart danced the moment he laid his eyes on him?

Eyes running in a completely opposite direction of the boy. He was too handsome for a stranger he’d never see again. But then, maybe he was just that type of stranger one gets a crush on and thinks about for the rest of one's life.

“One hell of a downpour, innit?” the boy breathed out. British. Voice deep enough to erase words right off his tongue.

“Yeah.” He sounded breathless too, suddenly becoming extremely self-aware and embarrassed. Thomas cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah, it is.”

The boy smiled and Thomas feared his lungs would collapse from the lack of air he was, or wasn't, providing. How could he continue the conversation?

_ Right. _ The boy was a customer.

“Are you looking for anything specific?”

“Oh! No, no,” he shook his head, taking the case off his back. “I’m just waiting for rain to pass.”

“Oh,” Thomas said, his disappointment a tad bit more apparent than he intended it to be.

The boy suddenly seemed uneasy, grabbing the strap as if ready to sling it back over his shoulder and leave. “I mean… If that's alright?”

_ Fuck I didn't mean it that way, please don't go _ . “Sure, why wouldn't it be?”

A sigh of relief and that heart-stopping smile again. “Oh, I don't know. Thanks, anyway.”

Thomas gestured to the bookshelves surrounding them. “Make yourself feel at home.”

Immediately, he wished to jump headfirst through the windowpane. Luckily, the guy laughed and took his jacket off, hanging it on the case.

“Thanks.”

If he said another dumb thing, would he get to hear his laugh again? Could he listen to it forever?

Like hypnotized, he followed the boy’s fingers as they walked over dented covers as if in a dream. Would they walk as dreamily over his skin? He forced his gaze back to the book in his hands, but ended up staring at it instead of reading. Should he bother the attractive stranger and initiate conversation once more? It's not like he would see him ever again. This was his only chance.

“Do you play?”

_ Well done, Thomas. _

“Hmm?”

“Do you play a guitar?”

The boy laughed.  _ Bingo. _ “Well yeah, guess I do.”

“In a band? Or on your own, for your soul?”

Thomas winced internally. He wished he would just shut the hell up sometimes.

Crossing his arms and leaning on a shelf, the boy said, a corner of his mouth turning upwards, “I’m a soloist, I’m afraid.”

“Then why did you carry it around?”

“'Cause I play on the street.”

“Oh.”

How come he’d never seen him before? He was pretty sure he was very hard to miss.

“Can I hear it? Your favourite song. Or anything, really.”

The words stumbled right out of his subconscious, leaving him taken aback by his own bravery. His heart was about to break out of his ribs.

“Sure.” He threw his jacket on the floor and opened the case. “Do you have an extra chair?”

“Take mine,” he blurted out, already getting up.

“No no no it's fine,” he grinned, shaking a no with his hand. “It would be easier that way, but I stand while I play on the street anyway. It’s not a problem.”

“Well you’re not on the street now, are you? You’re a guest and guests  _ sit. _ ” He carried the chair over and gestured to it.

The boy was much taller than him, and much prettier up close. Would he mind if he memorized the exact shade of his eyes and never thought about any other? Would he mind if he cupped his neck just to see if his hand fit?

“If you insist.”

“I do.” He stepped back and leant on his desk.

A soft laugh.  _ Super bingo.  _ “Alright then.”

So he sat, put the guitar between his legs and tied his hair back into a messy bun before taking it back into his hands. Suddenly, Thomas really wished he was behind the desk and not right in front of him.

A strum of chords and then his voice.  _ His voice. _ Thomas daren’t breathe, daren’t blink; anything  so he wouldn’t miss even the tiniest note or melody.

The answer was yes: his slender fingers did dance over guitar strings the way his heart danced the moment he laid his eyes on him.

He was the most perfect stranger he would have to say goodbye to.

When he finished the song, his cheeks were bright red. He looked up at Thomas and bit his lower lip.

“Well? Am I deemed deserving of having found shelter in this little bookstore of yours?”

“You deserve a fucking shrine.”

A laugh with his nose scrunched up.  _ B i n g o.  _

“You know what? I could ask for something in return.”

Thomas’ heart skipped a beat. “And that is?”

“Your favourite book.”

A song for a book. A peek into one’s soul for a peek into the other’s. “That's fair.”

“Glad you think so.”

The rain had stopped long ago and left him with a smell that brought peace to others but sorrow to himself. It was stupid, it was silly, but he didn't want to let his stranger go. No one had ever made him feel so alive, no one had tickled his curiosity like he had.

“Name’s Newt, by the way.” The boy extended his hand and Thomas took it.

“Thomas.”

Newt gave him a squeeze, then let go. “See you around, Thomas.”

_ See you around _ .

It wasn't a goodbye. It was a hello.

 

Thomas didn't like autumn, but he liked Newt. Over the series of weeks that followed, when Newt would sing a song - every time a different one - and Thomas would give him a book, autumn became more bearable. Slowly but surely, they got to know each other through lyrics and metaphors. Thomas wouldn't had had it any other way.

One day, just before he reached for the door, Newt pulled out a CD and slid it over to him.

_ Today you get two songs, but the second one is supposed to be listened to alone. _

He could hardly wait to come home.

And when he did?

_ This one I wrote with you on my mind _

His heart was near failing, a smile stretching his lips like it would never falter.

It was a love song.

 

Next time Newt came by, he didn't waste any time. He’d waited long enough. Newt had barely closed the door when Thomas pulled him into a kiss.

The answer was, again, yes: lips as perfectly shaped as his did show him another dimension entirely, one where he saw every star explode behind his eyelids.

His stranger became his lover. And this was  _ their _ hello.

**Author's Note:**

> tell me ur thoughts!!!! yell at me incoherently!!!!! i love me some sweet validation


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